


Heresy

by squirtysadist



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe – Imp Perversion Universe, Caning, Discipline, Dubious Consent, F/F, Female Ejaculation, Humiliation, Imp Perversion Mary Wardwell, Reader-Insert, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:21:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28520055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squirtysadist/pseuds/squirtysadist
Summary: You've been caught saying heretical remarks regarding witches, but Mary Wardwell understands it wasn't intentional. Still, a crime is a crime and a suitable punishment must be found.
Relationships: Original Mary Wardwell/Reader
Comments: 12
Kudos: 53





	Heresy

You were new at Blackwood High. A teacher, acting as a relief for the suddenly absent History teacher. You taught passionately, discussing all things you had thought was appropriate per the curriculum, but one question rattled you.

_Why_? Why did we kill the witches and not reform them? You’d been stunned––because it was the way of the Emperor, you declared. But the questions pressed and pressed until you admitted that, yes, if witches did look like us, perhaps there was a chance for reformation––but that wasn’t your place to decide.

Somehow, this had reached Mary Wardwell.

By the end of your last class, you were packing up your books, ready to return home and prepare for the next day when a gentle _knock, knock_ sounded on the doorframe.

Looking up, you smiled, feeling a cold fear wash over you as Mary grinned brightly, strolling into the room as her eyes cast around the empty seats. “On your way home?” she asked.

“Yes. I need to prepare for tomorrow. I don’t have…have anything from the previous teacher––“

“No, he was discovered to be a heretic, so we burned all of his work,” she said, and then gave a deliberate blink, smiling wider. “You’re not a heretic, are you?” she asked.

“Of course not!”

“No, of course not, because you know what we do to witches and heretics.”

You swallowed, nodding, “I love the Emperor, I’ve only––“

“Oh, I know dear. You’re so very sweet, but I couldn’t help but overhear some students discussing your class. They seemed to think you believe in…mercy for the witches.”

“No, no,” you clarified, shaking your head. “Not mercy. I was stunned by the question. The emperor knows what’s best. I’m just a history teach…teacher…” you stuttered, watched as Mary stepped closer and closer to you. All at once, you found yourself clutching your books to your chest, pressing against the blackboard.

“The emperor does know best, but what you said was… _heretical_. One might think you were…empathetic to witches,” Mary stated, giving a wince. “Now, I do think it was a mistake. After all, you came so…highly regarded.” And there she lifted a hand, tucking a strand of loose hair behind your ear. “But this flagrant disregard can’t go unpunished, hmm?”

“ _Please_ , I’ll be better prepared next time. I won’t––“

“I know, and you will. Don’t worry. We don’t go needlessly murdering people for a slip of the tongue. The pressure of teaching gets to all of us.”

You sighed with relief at that. She wasn’t going to fire you, at the very least. Whatever came, it sounded as though you would keep your job.

“Now, since it was an honest mistake, I think…fifteen lashes sounds fair. Hmm?”

“L-lashes?”

“Caning, dear. All lessons must be learnt the hard way. It’s the only way we’ll learn.”

You swallowed, nodding. Caning. Caning was better than the alternative. “Okay,” you nodded and watched as Mary stepped back, gesturing to your desk. You stepped forward, placing your books aside and then watched as Mary stepped to beside your desk.

“Do you keep your cane in your drawer?” she asked.

You nodded. You’d never used it, but it’d been standard issue should any students be…difficult. Advising of anything heretical. The students had been good, aside from today, and when you’d changed the conversation, they’d followed, not pushing any further. It seemed unfair to punish them.

“Good girl. Now lie on the desk for me.”

“L-lie––you’re….wait, you’re not caning my hand?” It was commonplace to cane a woman's palm of her non-dominant. But Mary’s eyes only shone as she laughed, shaking her head.

“No, dear. It would be best if you had your hand to _teach_. Bend over on the desk, please.”

You whimpered, feeling your stomach tighten, as strange anxiety filled you, anticipation burning as you bent over the desk as she directed.

“Pull your skirt up.”

You sucked in a breath, trying to push past the flush of embarrassment. The sooner this was over, the sooner you could return home. You pulled your skirt up, revealing the underwear you wore and listened as Mary’s heels clicked on the ground, stepping around to behind you.

“My, my, these are _quite_ lovely. You’ll have to tell me where you bought such a pair.”

You held back a whimper and then heard the sound of the desk drawer opening before wood dragged against wood as she pulled the cane from the desk drawer.

“Now, be a good girl and slide those down.”

“Do I…do I have to?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if you didn’t,” Mary said, sharpness in her tone. “Now, quickly before I change my mind about _which_ punishment should be inflicted.”

You swallowed and looped your thumbs under the band of the knickers, shoving them down your legs until they fell and caught around your ankles.

Behind you, you heard Mary draw in a breath, a low hum sounding as she seemed to admire the view.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to ignore the feeling of being out on display and focused on keeping still. You faced the back of the classroom, across rows and rows of empty seats, and somehow it felt as if you were still entirely on view before a crowd.

“Fifteen strikes,” Mary reminded.

“Fifteen,” you agreed.

The first was hard, firm and you squeaked, feeling the pain run over you. The second one was just as hard, and the sound slapped through the air, echoing in your ears. She struck, hard and firm, on one cheek, and then the other. Five in a row, and then stopped. The pain rushed over you, but it wasn’t as bad as you expected, despite how it electrified your nerves.

There her fingers stopped over and pressed against the red marks. Her fingers felt cool against the heat of your skin, and you jerked against it.

You hated to admit it, but you could feel a low throb between you legs in reaction. If she looked too closely, Mary would see what was happening, and you weren’t sure how she would react to that.

Embarrassment filled you. Squeezing your eyes shut, you tried to ignore how her fingertips traced over the outlines of the welts before she pulled away.

The strikes came again. They were hard, some crossing over the welts, others cutting under them, high on your thigh.

And then, accidentally––you thought it was accidental, her hits had been otherwise methodical––she struck against the edge of your labia. You yelped as your back arched before you went to turn around only for the palm of her hand to settle on the back of your neck, forcing you down on the table.

“Almost done,” she said. “You’re being _such_ a good girl taking your punishment like this.”

You blinked, squirming but bit your tongue nonetheless. You didn’t expect her words to sound so soft in your ear. As if she really was pleased with you.

Again, you felt the low, throb and growing wetness between your thighs, and your hips shifted, trying to ignore the growing tension, low in your belly.

You settled back on the table and then felt the strikes begin again. The last five. They came, sudden and sharp as Mary’s hand remained wrapped around your neck, holding you firm to the table. The first strike was low and sharp. The second one on the other cheek, high and you felt the sting as it cut over the other welts.

But the third was purposeful. It paused in the air, and you inhaled a slowly drawn breath, before exhaling. It struck, hard and sharp against your labia and instead of a cry, a low, heavy moan came from your chest.

You squirmed, “I–I didn’t mean…“ you tried to explain, but Mary laughed.

“Oh, dear,” she tsked. “And here I thought you were taking your punishment like a good girl, but it turns out you’re just… _depraved_ , aren’t you?” she said. “Whatever will we do about that.”

“No, no, please. I’ll be good. I didn’t mean to.”

“I know you didn’t _mean_ to,” she said, “but even I can see the effects this is having on you.” You shivered and then keened as you felt the cane press against your sex, dragging over it. “Completely sodden,” she sighed. “Such a shame.”

“Mary, please. Please––I didn’t mean it. I’m not depraved. I’m not. I’m…” you failed, scrambling to find an excuse, but what was there? You couldn’t help the effect it was having, and even as Mary’s hand tightened on the back of your neck, the cane pressing harder against you as it dragged back and forth, a tight noise was building in your chest. Your hips rocked, sliding over the cane and you felt your eyes prick.

You ached for it.

Perhaps…perhaps you were depraved.

“Oh, shh. You’re okay,” Mary said. “You’re not married, are you?”

You shook your head, no.

“Well, there’s your problem. You’re just all worked up. No wonder you’re so degenerate right now, acting like such a _slut_ over my cane. Have you ever had a boyfriend, dear?”

“N-no,” you admitted. You had kept focused on your studies. You’d always kept your head bowed in books, waiting for someone else to make a move––and it never happened. Now you were too busy to meet anyone.

“Do you handle this at home, by yourself?”

You shook your head. You didn’t want to talk about this. It was too personal.

“Oh, I see. Well nothing beats another person’s touch,” she said, and then the hand on the back of your neck slid down, pressing against the middle of your back. “Stay still and let Ms Wardwell fix this _nasty little problem_ for you, hmm? And you’ll be all better.”

You should refuse. You should demand that she stop, but the cane was running against you, and you wanted to know what she meant. You ached to know.

A part of you…hoped. And it was wrong. You shouldn’t _hope_ for these things, not when you were bent over and punished for heretical speech.

But Mary was _so nice_ about it.

The cane pulled away, and you watched as it settled on the table beside you. And then, you felt as fingers pressed between your legs, over the vulva, sliding back and forth just like the cane had, but it felt better. Her fingers slid back and forth with purposeful intent.

You whimpered, legs shaking as her fingertips pressed over your clit. “See, doesn’t that feel better?” she asked.

You nodded.

“You’ll need to use your words, dear.”

“Yes.”

“Good girl. Now, back in the eighteen-hundreds, doctors would often perform manual massage to help with this kind of affliction that you’re suffering from.”

“Is…is that why you’re…” and you trailed off, biting your lip to hold back needy gasps building in your throat.

“It is. Now…I’m going to slip inside of you now. We need to be quite thorough about this, I think.”

“Okay,” you said, and you blinked up, looking at the back of the classroom where you could see the posters of the Emperor, reminding you to be vigilant. Mary was helping you. She was trying to ease the problem and making it better for you.

Two fingers pressed against your entrance and then began to slide inside. You whimpered at the sensation, surprised by how tight you felt, but as she slid in deeper, your body seemed to relax, growing accustomed to the sensation.

She edged her fingers back and forth, stroking inside of you, and you eased at the touch, feeling it thrum through you. It felt good, really good, but there was still a pulsing need to be touched around your clit. An ache still growing inside of you as you clenched and whimpered.

“How does that feel?” Mary asked.

Your voice was small as you said, “Good.”

“Mm. Do you think you can take more?”

More? You wanted to ask but didn’t. Eager to please with how happy she sounded with you, you nodded and agreed breathlessly, “Yes.”

A third finger pressed against you and you gasped, hips bucking, clenching around the two fingers before sliding inside, firmer and harder this time. It hurt, but like the caning, you felt a low, heavy moan slip from your mouth instead, strange electricity humming up from the base of your spine.

Biting your lip, you tried to stifle the noises coming from you. You could _hear_ Mary working inside of you, stroking and thrusting deep with a thick, wet noise.

You could feel warm, slickness dripping down your thighs like honey, and a part of you trembled. You’d never been so wet before––not like this.

“Does that still feel good?”

“Yes,” you agreed.

“It only feels like this when you're so worked up. You _shouldn’t_ like it. Only whores like this,” Mary said. “But you’re a good girl, and I think you just need a helping hand.”

You nodded, swallowing. You didn’t want to be a whore.

“There we are. Good girl.” And then the hand on your lower back lifted and came to slide around your thigh, the palm of her hand resting against your public mound before her fingers began to curl against your clit.

Biting your lip, you felt your legs begin to shake, muscles tensing as your hips kept bucking without you meaning to. Was it meant to be like this?

You felt hot, so hot even with the cool air brushing over your skin, and the tension low in your belly was tightening with every stroke and circling of her finger.

You squirmed against the table as Mary seemed to go deeper and deeper inside of you, filling you up completely. Her fingers stretched inside of you, and with the sudden pressure on your clit, you felt yourself gasp, arching and bucking deeper onto her fingers as you squeezed around her.

“ _Oh my God_!” you cried out, feeling the sudden rush as the orgasm shuddered through you, spilling between your thighs.

Mary laughed, and her hand dropped away, leaving you aching and empty. “Well, would you look at that,” she said, and she nudged you to sit up, pointing to the floor. “Quite the mess. You’ll have to clean that up before cleaners think you had an accident.”

And then she nudged the tissue box into your hand.

You picked up your underwear from your ankles, pulling them on despite the wetness that spilled across your sex and down your thighs. You were slick in the underwear as you pulled your skirt down before you took the tissue and knelt on the ground, soaking up the small puddle left. You didn’t understand what had happened.

“Did I…did I _wet_ myself?“ You asked, feeling the heat of embarrassment wash over you. If you had, then Mary had seen it.

“No, dear. Not the way you thought. It’s not unusual for _certain_ women to do that. You may need more…help down the track because of it though.” She took a tissue and began cleaning the cane, before she set it back in its drawer and then waiting for you to stand before her, fixing your skirt. “Now, if you ever feel worked up like that again, come find me before it ever gets bad like that, again,” she said, with a flutter of her eyelashes.

“And…you, do you ever…ever need help?”

Mary laughed. “No, I’m not afflicted by such depravity as you,” she said. “But I know you’re only doing your best and it’s my job to help guide those wayward souls.” She stepped forward then, and just as she had before, she lifted a hand and curled a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I’d hate to see you imprisoned for heresy, so if you ever feel the urge, do come and find me. Day or night.”

And then she was walking out of the room, as you realised, that when she’d entered the classroom, she hadn’t shut the door. Which meant that anyone could have walked passed and seen you. Anyone could have heard your cries spilling down the hallway.

Embarrassment flushed over you, and a strange shift tightened low in your belly. You were going to need a lot of her help, it seemed.


End file.
